


A Drug For Me

by QueenOfNewOrleans22



Category: Mötley Crüe
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Anxiety Attacks, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, Insecurity, M/M, Nightmares, Past Child Abuse, Past Domestic Violence, Past Drug Addiction, Past Sexual Abuse, Past Underage Sex, Slurs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-09
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-15 01:14:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 14,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29305563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenOfNewOrleans22/pseuds/QueenOfNewOrleans22
Summary: Mick needs a bassist for his band, and when he finds an ad for one in the newspaper, he decides to take a chance, and finds himself involved with a mysterious young man with a complex past.("My name is Mick, and I'll be there. Sounds good?" Mick continued."Sounds good." Nikki agreed, and, just as Mick was about to ask about any phone numbers for the bands that Nikki used to be in, there was a sudden crashing noise, and the line went dead.)
Relationships: Mick Mars/Nikki Sixx
Comments: 85
Kudos: 24





	1. Chapter 1

It took Mick five months, three days and two hours to find a bassist. 

Like all good things in life, Mick found a bassist while he was reading the morning newspaper, sipping on a stealing hot cup of coffee, still mostly asleep but not enough that he could go back to bed, still stuck in the 'in between' of waking and sleep. The coffee did little besides burn his tongue, and Mick knew that he should wait, but it was slowly, albeit surely, pushing him back into the land of the living. 

Through glazed eyes, Mick was combing through the ads in the newspaper, not reading half of them if they didn't involve the words 'bassist' and 'reasonably talented', although Vince had told him that he needed to stretch out the options a little bit, because they wouldn't find a bassist if Mick was still hung up on the fact that their last one carried the whole band through their last tour, but Mick wasn't about to listen to that blonde primadonna when it came to things like this. 

In between a 'will bring own clothes' and a 'cannot read but will for food', there was an advertisement boasting about a 'bassist with reasonable talent with ability to write songs', and Mick sighed, looking at the phone number that was written in bold numbers below the description. Mick had gotten his hopes up several times, and didn't care to do it again, but as he stared at the numbers, he wondered if it was worth a try. 

They, after all, wouldn't get anywhere if they just skimmed over every ad because of every previous failed hope. Mick knew this, and he repeated the remainder over and over in his head as he took another sip of coffee and scalded the entirety of the inside of his mouth. He sighed and stood up, wincing as his lower back sung a symphony of a thousand voices, and pausing, leaning against the table. 

Sooner or later, Mick thought with a rueful smirk on his face, they were gonna need a new guitarist, and what then? Basssists were hard enough to find, but guitarists? God, Vince had even said that Mick had been a diamond in the rough. 

Mick took a deep breath and stood, walking across the kitchen and ripping off a paper towel from the roll. He walked back into the living room, which was little more than a couch and a tiny little television that didn't play more than three channels, and grabbed a pen from the TV stand. He didn't see the harm in writing down the number, just in case Vince and Tommy hadn't managed to find anybody and they were down to interview some wannabe bassist. 

Or, at least, Mick figured that it was a wannabe. That was, after all, what a bulk of bassists were made up of, anyways. Just a bunch of wannabes because the real good ones were already in a band. And there was always a reason by the ones in the newspaper weren't playing at some tiny venue yet. Mick had always been told that he was too cynical, but he couldn't help it. Or, at the very least, that's what he told himself. 

There was a brief knock on the door, and Mick scowled. "Fuck off." He snapped as he pressed the paper towel against the wall and quickly jotted down the number, watching as the ink ran slightly, distorted from the wall. The ink became faint and Mick pressed it briefly against his tongue before resuming his task. 

Somehow, Mick's tiny little apartment had become the local hangout, and he hated it. Tommy always ate everything in the fridge and cupboards and Vince would make a mess and then they'd leave, so late at night that it was actually early morning, and Mick would be left to clean up the mess left behind, although he figured that it was only in reserves for joining a band with two younger, immature guys, but still, he was allowed to be irritated. 

"Hey. That's not nice!" Tommy yelled, but the smile could be heard in his voice. 

Mick wasn't smiling, in fact, he was pretty close to start yelling. "I don't want company right now." He said, folding the paper and placing it on the table, underneath an old coffee mug so that it didn't fall off. "So go back to wherever the Hell you came from." Mick glared at the table, hoping that Tommy got the point and went back to his parents' house, and, maybe, stayed there. 

It was only Tuesday. They weren't supposed to practice until Friday and, even then, they usually gathered at Tommy's parents' house because Vince also lived in an apartment and the last thing that anybody needed was a noise complaint. 

Or an eviction notice, who knew at that point? Mick surely didn't. 

"Well, at least let me in." Vince said in a slightly lower, but still in a too loud voice. 

Mick suddenly felt compelled to bang his head against the wall. Maybe, just maybe, then his annoyance would be noted. "What the hell are you two even doing here, anyways?" He asked, finally walking back into the small foyer area so he could open the door and stop the godforsaken yelling. Well, they weren't yelling, _technically,_ but Mick already had a headache and it wasn't even noon yet. 

When Mick undid the latches and opened the door, he was greeted by the sight of a drum stick being propelled at his head. Mick nearly yelled out, barely managed to duck before the stick ended up implanted in his eye, sending a bolt up pain up his spine with the frantic motion. The stick fell against the ground with a clatter and Tommy, with his mouth agape, stared at the stick, and then looked back up at Mick with fear in his eyes. 

"If you kill him, I won't blame you." Vince said, his arms crossed stiffly over his chest from where he was leaning against the wall behind Tommy. 

Tommy backed away. "I'm sorry, Mick. I didn't think that'd you open the door." He raised his hands in a placating gesture, looking anxious as he glanced down other sides of the hallway, as if looking for a way to escape. 

Truth be told, Mick was amused by that, but he was too annoyed to smile at that moment. "If my back didn't feel the way it does, _thanks to you, asshole,_ then I would punch you in your fucking face." Mick said, but the door was already open, and he stepped aside so that he could get the day done and over with. 

"Um...thanks, I guess." Tommy hesitated, but then Vince poked him and he stepped forward, keeping a wide berth between he and Mick as he hurried inside of the apartment. 

Vince smirked and followed, taking off the jacket he was wearing. "I got a question for you, Mick." He said, watching Mick as he shut and locked the door, wishing that he had never woken up that morning or, at the very least, had gotten the flu or something so that nobody would bother him. 

"What?" Mick wasn't sure if he wants to hear the question, but knew that he didn't have much of a choice. 

"You know that girl who lives just right next to you?" Vince said. 

Yes, Mick did know, and he already knew the next question that would come from that idiot's mouth. He didn't care to hear it. "Yes, and yes, she's married, so unless you wanna get your ass kicked by some guy with a snake tattoo, then keep your mouth shut, and don't shake your hips at her." Mick gave Vince a pointed look before turning and walking back to the living room. 

Vince looked offended. "I do _not_ shake my hips at - my God, Mick. Do you look?" 

"Fuck off. And no." Mick kicked Tommy in the shin. "Don't touch anything." He warned, not caring to have to replace his television again, especially for the second time that month. 

With a twisted cackle, Vince tossed his head back with a wide, smug grin on his face. "You look, ya' old pervert!" He snickered, sauntering into the room and lightly slapping Mick on his arm. 

"Everybody looks." Tommy said in a too-innocent tone. "My dad looks." He paused, and then grimaced. "I don't wanna know what that means." 

Mick sighed. "He's probably looking because he wants to know why his son is hanging around an old man and - well, Vince." He motioned vaguely to the blonde, who grinned again, this time in that annoyingly charming way of his that he used around the ladies at the bars. 

"You're not that old." Tommy said. 

"Compared to you? I'm old as sin." Mick walked to the couch and sat down, hoping to relieve some pain from his hip. He had no idea how he was going to continue standing up on stage for hours at a time as he got older and his disease steadily progessed, eventually reducing him to a living, breathing statue. 

Meanwhile, Tommy was probably still going to be rocking long after his hair had turned grey. He was just like that, Mick knew. Tommy was determined and happiest when he was pounding away on those goddamned drums like the fucking maniac that he was. 

"What's this?" Vince suddenly asked, and he bent down, slipping the paper towel out from underneath the mug. He frowned and unfolded it, tilting his head as he looked back up at Mick. "What, you finally found somebody who doesn't care about you barely being able to move?" Vince grinned, as if to show Mick that he was just kidding. 

Mick felt a sting of pain in his heart, anyways. "Possible bassist." He muttered, standing up and walking over to the tiny little bookshelf that he had stuffed into the corner, less because he wanted to read and more because he didn't want for anybody to know how much that little comment had affected him. 

"Oooh. Nice. Let's hope that this one knows how to actually play." Vince remarked, sounding faintly amused by the memory. 

"Um. I'm sure plenty of girls will date guys who can't move much." Tommy said in an awkward tone, looking between the wall and Mick. "I mean, why date a guy in a wheelchair or a blind guy, but not a guy who just has some back problems?" 

With furrowed eyebrows, Vince opened his mouth, confused. "What are you talking about, man?" He asked. 

"Thanks, drummer." Mick said, although he doubted that his back was the true reason why two of his marriages had crumbled and why all of the girls seemed to steer very clear of him. He appreciated it, though, and hoped that Tommy, as dumb as he could be, knew that. 

"Oh, man. You know that I was kidding." Vince said. 

Mick didn't reply, instead grabbing the paper towel from Vince's hand and going to sit down again. "He... _she..._ I don't know, described themselves as a reasonably talented bassist and a good songwriter." He said. 

"Oh?" Vince raised his eyebrows. 

"Cool, man. Multi-talented." Tommy said. 

"Yeah." Mick made a face. "But, if they're so good or, I dunno, reasonably talented, then why aren't they in a band?" He splayed his free hand, fingers in the air. 

"Hm." Vince hummed, his face stiff with contemplation. Maybe they were too young up until now. Look, what's the harm? We need a bassist." He reached out and grabbed the paper towel again, glancing at it before he walked over to the telephone determinedly. 

Mick wondered if he should object, but just leaned back into the couch, picking at one of his nails as he listened to Vince dial the number while Tommy looked on with a look of great worry on his face. "What if this one's like the last one and only wants in for the fame?" Tommy asked. 

"Then we kick him out so fast that it makes him fucking head spin." Vince replied.

"Says the guy whose only in it for the fame." Mick rolled his eyes. 

Suddenly, there was a telephone being shoved into his lap, and Mick scowled, looking up at Vince, who only smiled blissfully. "You asshole. This was your idea!"

"But you're the sweet-talker." Vince said. 

Mick didn't want to talk, but he also didn't want to throw away this one chance at a good bassist, and he didn't want to freak said bassist out because one of them was an asshole and the other just went along with it because he didn't want to have to find another band. So, he sighed, and picked up the phone, listening as the dial tone droned on and on and on. 

And on, and on. 

Maybe they wouldn't even answer. It wouldn't be the first time, and Mick wasn't dumb enough to assume it would be the last. He waits patiently, though, until he heard the distinct _click_ as, finally, somebody picked up. 

"This better be fucking good." A man's voice said, high with the distinct sound of irritation. He was undeniably angry over whatever perceived fault that Mick had managed to do in the past five seconds. 

Mick hurried to bite his tongue. "I saw your ad in the newspaper." He said. "That you were a bassist. Or was that for somebody else?" He motioned for Vince, who was hanging over the couch, trying to hear the conversation, to get up and away from him. 

"Oh." The man paused. "Right. Sorry." He cleared his throat. "Yes, that's for me." 

"Good." Mick wondered if it was a mistake, writing down the number. "Listen, I'm the guitarist in a band. We got a singer and a drummer but no bassist." He threw his middle finger up at Vince, who was starting to resume his 'listening at the phone' routine, pestering Mick like an annoying fly. 

"Is that right?" The man said wearily. "What's the band called?" He asked. 

"Mötley Crüe. We haven't made it really big yet, but we have plans." Mick replied. 

"Okay." The man seemed to think about it for a minute. "Well, my name is Nikki. I used to play for Sister, and I formed this band named London, but something happened and I haven't been able to find work since." He said. 

Mick's suspicion kicked off, and he frowned. "What happened?" He asked. 

"Nothing." The man said. "It doesn't - I can still play. And I'd be glad to meet up with you, for rehearsal or something." He said. 

A part of Mick wanted to push for some sort of explanation, but then he looked up at Tommy's wide, anxious eyes, and decided that it wasn't worth it, especially with Vince so close that Mick could feel the blonde breathing on him. So, Mick took a deep breath. "Well, okay. Um, how about tomorrow, at noon, we'll meet down at Ruby's diner? Do you know that place?" He asked. 

"Yeah." Nikki replied. 

"My name is Mick, and I'll be there. Sounds good?" Mick continued. 

"Sounds good." Nikki agreed, and, just as Mick was about to ask about any phone numbers for the bands that Nikki used to be in, there was a sudden crashing noise, and the line went dead. 

Mick pulled the phone away from his ear, and looked at it curiously. "That was weird." He said to nobody in particular. 

"What?" Vince asked. 

"Nothing. We're meeting up down at Ruby's diner, noon, tomorrow." Mick replied, not keen on having a bunch of conspiracy theories on his hands about what exactly Nikki had meant, and why he hadn't been in a band in awhile. 

"Good!" Tommy smiled. "Does that mean we get a bassist?" He asked. 

"Slow down there, killer." Vince replied. 


	2. Chapter 2

"You're such an asshole." Nikki muttered, his hand still frozen, fingers curled into the air from where they'd been holding the phone to his ear. He looked deeply unimpressed, his dark eyebrows low over his eyes. 

With a cheeky little grin, Gunner clapped his hands together. "Boom!" He said, giggling as he looked at the destruction he'd just caused. Gunner held up his arms, bouncing a little. "Dada, up! Up, Dada!" He demanded. 

Far from standing firm, Nikki felt his resolve slowly crumble as he stared into those big eyes, pleading in that sweet, so manipulative way of his. Nikki sighed, shaking his head as he bent down and hooked his hands underneath Gunner's arms to pull him up. 

But Nikki couldn't help but look down at the upended table and the phone, which was now just a broken mess of pieces on the ground, unidentifiable from the phone that it once was. He needed that phone, especially if this whole band thing ended up working out, but he doubted that there would be enough money left over to replace it. 

Gunner was still grinning. "You like, Dada?" He asked. 

"No. Dada doesn't like this." Nikki didn't think he would've ever been speaking in third person to a toddler while looking down at the telephone that said toddler had just broken, but here he was, staring down at the phone with something akin to exasperation. 

"Oh." Gunner's grin melted away, and he spread his arms wide. "Hug, Dada?" 

"Yes." Nikki felt chubby little toddler arms wrap around his neck as he walked back into the living room. 

It was hard, Nikki had to admit, getting used to physical affection. He wasn't used to being hugged on a daily basis, and didn't even really like being hugged, which meant that it was trouble when Gunner turned out to be quite the enthusiastic cuddler, and a manipulative child, at that. 

Nikki had believed that he was a strong person, up until he'd had a kid, and then he had realized that he wasn't strong, not at all. Gunner could make even the strongest person crack, with that cheeky grin of his, and Nikki didn't know whether to be annoyed or proud of that. 

Which made Nikki's mind return to the fact that he had to meet Mick tomorrow, and his heart started to speed up. He hadn't been in a band since Brandi had left, which meant that he was out of the loop. Nikki hadn't practiced in the last few weeks because Gunner had gotten sick, and then he'd gotten sick, and it'd been a whole mess. 

Truth be told, Nikki hadn't even remembered placing the ad, but now, he found himself regretting it. What the hell was he supposed to do? Nikki had placed the ad in a moment of desperation, but now, he started to reconsider what he'd done. 

Nikki didn't think that any sort of band, especially a rock band, at that, would accept a guy who had a kid, who had obligations that went far beyond the band and who couldn't sacrifice as much. But playing bass and writing songs was just about the only thing that Nikki was good at, and unless he needed to rearrange his priorities and find an actual job, then he needed to take a risk. 

"Dada happy now?" Gunner asked as he was set back down on the couch. 

"We don't - don't pull things down like that." Nikki hesitated, and was suddenly aware that his heart was pounding much faster again. "That wasn't good." 

His bottom lip puckered into a pout, Gunner looked tearful. "Sorry, Dada." He mumbled, looking down at his hands. 

Oh, how Nikki loathed whenever he had to chastise Gunner, because he always feared that he'd go too far. Nikki didn't want to be his mother, but he didn't want for his son to go around, thinking that those things were okay. "It's alright." He said, pressing a kiss to his son's hair. 

Sometimes, Nikki wondered what he was doing. He was twenty-one years old, with no job and limited savings. He had a one year old son whose mother had up and left, and his only hope was this fucking band. Nikki sighed and ran his hands through his hair, wondering what this business was, joining a band called, of all things, Mötley Crüe. 

"Where Unc' Black'?" Gunner asked, seemingly having gotten over his tears and now looking up and excited at the answer that would come. 

Nikki didn't know. He would've called Blackie, except the fucking phone was broken, which as Nikki was realizing now, was more of a necessity than he'd first thought. Blackie was his de-facto babysitter, and Nikki needed to be able to contact him, just in case. 

"I don't know. Later, I guess." Nikki sat down. "He was supposed to have been here thirty minutes ago." He wasn't concerned, except he was concerned, and he really didn't want for Blackie to be on the receiving end of what the gangs in LA could do to someone. 

"Bad Unc' Black'." Gunner said.

A reluctant smirk pulled at Nikki's lips. "Yeah, bad Uncle Blackie." But they were stuck together like some weird, twisted family, and they needed each other, as much of both of them loathed to admit such a thing, even in thought. 

Sister had brought a lot of good things and bad things for Nikki, but Blackie had always been there, in his own weird way. They'd stuck together throughout the years, long after Nikki had left to start his own band with Lizzie. Now, they were roommates, but Blackie often left to spend time with his girlfriend, Kerry, who lived halfway across the city. 

There was the sound of the door being unlocked, slammed open and then shutting, before the lock latch slid back into the locked position again. There was an annoyed grunt, and then the sound of wet boots on the tile. "It's fucking pissing rain out there!" Blackie yelled. 

"Classy, Blackie." Nikki muttered as he stood up. 

Blackie snorted with laughter as he walked into the kitchen, his black hair damp, an amused grin on his face. "With you as his father and me and Liz as his uncles, that kid is gonna be the raunchiest toddler on the playground." He said, slipping off his wet jacket and tossing it somewhere in the hallway. 

"Yes. But I'd like to preserve his innocence until he's at least two." Nikki replied. 

"And when he's two?" Blackie raised his eyebrows. 

Nikki shrugged. "You two can take him to the strip club." He placed his hands on his hips and watched as Blackie shed his boots and carried them into the laundry room before walking back into the kitchen, wiping his dirtied hands on his shirt before their eyes met and Blackie became perplexed. "What? Can't a man undress around here?" He said. 

"You were supposed to be back thirty minutes ago." Nikki replied. "And I got a call for my ad." He confessed after a short stretch of silence, figuring that there was no use in hiding it. 

"Did ya?" Blackie paused in the middle of the kitchen. "From who? Anybody that we know of? Anybody... _cool?"_ He looked somewhat hesitant, as if loathing to find an answer at the end of the tunnel. 

Nikki shrugged, tossing his hair out of his face. "A band named Mötley Crüe. Ever heard of them? 'Cause I sure as Hell haven't." And Nikki wasn't about to pretend that he wasn't, at the very least, somewhat concerned o that. 

"Nah, man." Blackie shook his head. 

"Well, I'm meeting this guy named Mick at some diner tomorrow. And I need you to watch the baby." Nikki said. 

Immediately, Blackie's face fell. "Oh, no, Nik, buddy, I'm a busy man tomorrow." 

"I'll just need noon 'till, like, two o'clock." Nikki hurried to say. 

"No can do, my friend." Blackie said regretfully. "Kerry and I are a busy man and woman tomorrow. She wants me to spend the night so we can have some alone time, I guess." He walked to the fridge and started rooting around like an overgrown raccoon. 

Nikki frowned. "And after that?" He asked. 

"We're gonna paint the bedroom with our clothes and fall asleep. Listen, man, you know that I would gladly help you if I could, but Kerry is fucking fantastic, and I can't blow her off after last time." Blackie emerged with a water bottle and a saddened look on his face. "So, please don't go all 'I let you live here' on me." 

Waving his hand dismissively in the air, Nikki turned away and rubbed the growing stubble on his chin. He sure as Hell couldn't take Gunner to this meeting, but he didn't have anybody else, and shelling out twenty dollars for a babysitter while he still had to pay for the phone wouldn't exactly work, either. "Can you help me out with the babysitter money?" Nikki asked, even though he cringed as he said it. 

Blackie winced. "About that..." He trailed off. 

"You're an asshole." Nikki scoffed. "I live with two fucking assholes and whatever the fuck that thing is." He waved his hand toward the cat, who was dozing on top of the cupboards. 

"Oh, God, I forgot that we had a cat." Blackie said as he unscrewed the cap on his water. "That's why everybody thinks we're gay, Nik. We live together, share finances, you have a kid, and, somehow, we acquired a fucking cat." He took a long gulp of his water. 

Nikki shook his head. "Whatever that is, it's no cat." He walked back into the living room and found Gunner on the ground, inspecting a small...thing that he'd picked up. Nikki winced. "What do you got, buddy?" He asked. 

"Bu'!" Gunner held up the thing in front of Nikki, who was met with something that was tiny and wriggling. "P'etty bu'!" He giggled. 

"Yeah, no." Nikki steeled his nerves, picked the bug delicately from his son's fingers, and then flung it, wiping his hands on his jeans. "C'mon, Gun." He said, reaching over and picking Gunner up. "Jeez, you're getting heavy." Nikki remarked, and he felt a little pang in his chest as that realization. 

Just a few months before, Gunner was, well, helpless, and now he was crawling and doing something akin to walking that looked more like tripping over his feet than anything else and picking up bugs from the carpet, and Nikki wasn't ready for that. He wasn't ready for school, or playmates, or talking. He wasn't ready for girlfriends or, and Nikki felt sick just thinking about it, when Gunner became a teenager and their tempers clashed. 

"Breathe, Nik." Blackie said mildly as he leaned against the countertop, drinking his water slowly, his dark eyes like fat, round beetles. 

Nikki flushed. "Sorry. Listen, can you just watch him for right now? He pulled down the telephone." He said. 

"I saw that." Blackie smirked, setting aside his water and holding out his hands. 

"Yay!" Gunner grinned as he was handed off, immediately reaching out to pull enthusiastically as Blackie's long hair, taking advantage of the fact that Nikki always chastised him for it and Blackie never did, no matter how many times he made some sort of pained response to the pulling. 

"What are you gonna do about a sitter?" Blackie asked. 

"I'll think about it." Nikki replied as he walked into the foyer and grabbed his jacket from the rack. "But I'll have to forgo _something_. Probably ask for cable to extend for another week." But he'd already did that. 

Blackie followed, bouncing Gunner on his hip. "I'll chip in for milk." He said. 

"Thanks." Nikki didn't think about how he'd have to pay for the diapers that were too small for Gunner, not daring to think about the implications of being a bad father. He didn't think about how he'd have to stretch out the baby wipes again, and he really didn't think about he'd have to beg Blackie to take the long drive into the 'country' so he could steal fruit from the farms because fruit was much more expensive than anything else. 

"No problem, bud. See you later." Blackie said. "Hey, wave bye-bye to your Dada." 

With a grin on his face, Blackie picked up Gunner's hand and mimed waving goodbye. Gunner grinned and went along with it, and Nikki couldn't stop the smile on his face as he paused and waved goodbye to the one reason why he was still living. 

As Nikki shut the door, Blackie yelled one more thing. "Hey, get some food for the cat!" He hurried to say as the door shut. 

"For one last time, Blackie, that ain't no cat!"


	3. Chapter 3

Nikki was woken up by the sound of crying, and he jolted awake, startled and blinking, black spots dancing in front of his vision as he came back to life from his relatively blissful sleep. Nikki frowned, pushing himself up and stumbling to his feet. "Fuck." Nikki hissed when he realized what the sound was, and he ran out of his room. The hallway was dimly lit by the streetlights, which were streaming in through the curtains. 

The crying increased in volume, and Nikki groaned, already knowing what the reason was going to be, but his heart still lurched at the idea of something severely wrong, and adrenaline made Nikki's heart speed up as he opened the door to Gunner's room. "Hey, hey." Nikki whispered, jogging over to the crib. 

"Dada!" Gunner sobbed, holding up his arms, his face broken in want and need for his father's comfort and protection. Nikki picked him up, cradling his son closely against his chest, kissing Gunner's head and bouncing him slightly. 

"It's okay. It's okay." Nikki whispered, rubbing Gunner's back. "I'm here." He said. 

Gunner cried softly against Nikki's neck, his pudgy fists curled into Nikki's shirt. 

A large shadow appeared in the threshold of the door, and Blackie appeared, his eyebrows pulled low over his eyes, lips thin. He looked curiously and concernedly at Gunner, before looking back up at Nikki, who looked back at him, helpless as his son's tears dried on his skin. 

It wasn't exactly an uncommon occurrence for Gunner to awaken in the middle of the night, crying pitifully, his wails undoubtedly seeping through the walls. Gunner had a good set of lungs on him, and his cries often would awaken the neighbors right along with him. 

Thankfully, such occurrences hadn't happened since Gunner was about three months old. He'd had colic, and would scream and cry for hours on end for no reason. It'd ended eventually, but that had been a long while, complete with Nikki having daily mental breakdowns and Blackie having to step in as the second parent. Nikki had been relieved beyond words when, one day, Gunner had smiled at him like nothing else had matters.d 

Nikki kissed Gunner's cheek. "Nightmare?" He prompted, his voice a mete whisper as he prayed that, after everything was settled again, that Gunner would go back to sleep and allow for them all to get a few more hours of sleep. 

Shakily, Gunner nodded. He pulled away, wiping his eyes with the backs of his hands. "Scary, Dada." He whimpered. " _Scary."_ Gunner whispered. 

"I bet." Nikki said. "But it's all over now. Dada's got you. You're safe, now." 

For a moment, Gunner stared at him. His eyes were wide, tears glistening in his blue-green irises, and Nikki stared back. One year prior, he'd held his son and promised that he would be the best father that he could ever be, and now, Nikki felt like he was failing. He smiled, but Gunner's pout remained. 

Blackie leaned against the door, smirking. "Give your Dada that winning smile." 

"Bad dream, Dada." Gunner said. 

"It's all over now." Nikki replied, but Gunner remained firm and unconvinced. 

Gunner clasped his hands together. "Dada sleepy. He say bye-bye." 

At those words, Nikki's body went ice cold. His grip on Gunner tightened, and he suddenly felt like he was going to be sick. "No, Gun. Just a really bad dream, okay, buddy?" He smoothed Gunner's hair away from his face. 

" _Ooo-kaay."_ Gunner rested his head against Nikki's shoulder, playing with a string on the hem of Nikki's shirt. "Night-night." He mumbled. 

Nikki let out a breath he hadn't realized that he was holding. "Night, buddy." He said, and he walked back over to the crib, setting Gunner back down on the mattress. Gunner grabbed for his teddy bear and clutched it, burying his face against the slightly worn fur. 

It was strange, now similar Gunner looked to Brandi. Sometimes, Nikki would hold him and just _look_ at Gunner, at the curve of his chin and the softness of his hair, and Nikki would hate Brandi. He didn't give a fuck that they weren't together anymore, but how could she leave their child? Gunner didn't deserve to grow up without a mother. 

But, maybe, as Nikki sometimes thought, growing up without a mother wasn't so bad sometimes. "I love you, Gun." He said, feeling as if the weight of the world was on his shoulders. 

"Love y', Dada." Gunner's eyes were already closed. 

And Nikki crept out from the room, closing it halfway before he walked toward the bright light in the kitchen, where Blackie had retreated at some point before, sipping tap water from a glass. 

Sometimes, nothing and everything mattered. This was one of those times, Nikki couldn't help but think, as he walked over and rested his head against the edge of his friend's shoulder. "I'm fucking pathetic." Nikki muttered. "I did - _drugs -"_

Blackie shushed him. "That's all in the past, Nik." He replied. "You've matured, changed, become helluva better father than I or Liz or Dane ever could be. And you can't think about all those things you could've done better, buddy. Or you'll drive yourself crazy." Blackie said. 

"Gunner deserves better." Nikki whispered against Blackie's shirt. 

"All kids deserve better." Blackie replied, resting his hand on Nikki's shoulder and rubbing it comfortingly. "You deserved better. It's the circle of life, Sixxy. Nothing you can do now. It isn't like Brandi was any better, anyways. Or is." Blackie turned and gripped Nikki's shoulders. "My point is - you've changed, and become the best father you can be." He said. 

Nikki sighed. "I guess." But regret struck at his heart, and Nikki couldn't help but think of how he'd thought that Gunner had fallen asleep on the blanket, that he was safe to do what he'd wanted to do all day. Nikki had been careless, and he hated himself for it. "I should've gotten clean sooner." 

"Nothing you can do to change that now." Blackie replied. "Don't beat yourself up." 

But, in the deepest depths of his mind, Nikki hated himself, and couldn't help but repeat how bad of a father he was, long after he'd gone too bed, curled in the darkness, listening to his heart beat frantically against his chest. 


	4. Chapter 4

As Mick sat near the front of the diner, eating rubbery eggs and drinking cold coffee, he couldn't help but think that he was going to be left to sit in the diner, waiting for a man that would never come. Mick supposed that every time somebody met with a potential band member, they were taking a wild chance, but this one seemed much more potentially dangerous in terms of not showing up. 

Tommy, with his ever present grin, would tell Mick that he was being paranoid, and maybe he was, but Mick had long learned that getting his hopes up would only end in sorrow, and that he couldn't he hopeful with everybody. Mick couldn't help but remember the way that the phone call had ended, and felt doubt mount in his chest even higher as he stepped his eggs and forced himself to eat them. 

People had come and went from the diner, trickling in and trickling out. Mick had watched them all, and felt both relieved and worried whenever the people that came in avoided his table, not even glancing at him as they passed. The coffee just got colder, and even though he'd paid way more for them than he should've, the eggs ended up pushed to the other side of the booth because Mick couldn't stomach them. 

It was 12:20, and Mick was getting increasingly impatient. He started to bite on a hang nail, and stared at everybody that passed through. He probably looked like some sort of creeper, but Mick had told the waitress what he was doing and who he was waiting for, so he hoped that he wouldn't be told to leave. 

A woman came in, wearing heels that were high enough to make her stumble slightly as she walked. A biker came in shortly afterwards. Mick listened as they ordered coffee and pancakes, respectively, and then returned to his own coffee, albeit rather begrudgingly. 

In truth, Mick didn't know why he was still there. He should've left after ten minutes, but he was still there, and he didn't know why. Maybe it was hope, or maybe it was fear. Mick didn't want to return to his apartment without a bassist, and face Vince and Tommy's disappointment.

The bell above the door rang, and a younger, dark-haired man in leather appeared, slipping through the door with a toddler on his hip. The toddler was gnawing on a multicolored toy rather eagerly. Mick immediately dismissed them, although his eyes lingered on the man and his wannabe rocker look. 

Mick buried his face in his hands and, with a sigh, rubbed his temples. He didn't want to have to face the disappointment, and he didn't want to face the cold reality of not finding a bassist. Mick debated on asking for another coffee or just calling it a day, because he had no reason to stay. 

"Are you Mick?" A voice asked, and Mick's head snapped up in surprise. He didn't know who he expected, but he was staring at the man with the toddler, and his first, immediate thought was to say 'no', because Mick didn't need to deal with a bassist with a kid. 

Hesitating, Mick was about to reply in negative. But, somehow, it didn't quite work out as intended. "Yeah. That's me." Mick said in a weak voice, straightening up slightly, reminding himself that self-correction was better than no correction. 

The man pursed his lips. "I'm Nikki." He said. 

"I figured that." Mick replied in a much sharper tone than he'd meant. He looked at the kid, who was staring at him, silent, and then he smiled brightly. Mick frowned back. "Is this why you couldn't get into a band?" He asked. 

Pausing, Nikki seemed to consider the question. He hesitated, and then finally sighed. "I couldn't find a babysitter." He said in a reluctant voice. 

Mick raised his eyebrows. "And who's to say that this'll only be a one-time occasion?" He asked, but then Mick looked at the kid, and realized that he was being unfair. Mick couldn't judge a book by its cover, because if his previous band mates had judged his cover, then he wouldn't have made it. 

And even though Nikki seemed to have a working back, him having a kid didn't have to be a deal breaker, and Mick knew that, although his heart ached at the sight of a baby. Mick wondered when he'd last seen Les. "Never mind. Sit down." 

Lingering for a minute, Nikki didn't seem like he was about to do such a thing, but then he relented. He set the kid down onto the booth, and then sat down beside him, stiff and rather uncomfortable. The kid said something, and Nikki shook his head. "No, Gun. Be good for Dada, okay?" Nikki said. 

For a long minute, they sat in silence. Nikki had sharp, piercing eyes, and Mick couldn't look straight into them without feeling like he was being lost in the green depths. "So? You didn't answer my question." Mick said, settling for looking straight at the kid for emphasis. 

"Yes. But..." Nikki paused. 

The waitress was coming over, snapping her gum noisily. Her blonde hair was piled into a messy bun. Her nametag read 'Heather', and Mick sighed at the interruption. "Anything I can get for you?" Heather asked, none too kindly. 

"No, thanks." Nikki replied shortly, and then he seemed to think about something for a minute. "Milk, please." He said, pulling out his wallet from his jacket. 

Heather nodded and gave Mick an odd look before turning away and walking back to the kitchen. Nikki looked back toward Mick, and then entangled his fingers together. "I have friends that can take him, they just...copped out today." 

For a minute, Mick looked at Nikki's face, trying to figure out if he was being lied to, but Nikki's face was stoic, impassive. He just looked tired, and Mick felt sorry for how he'd acted previously. "Okay." Mick said, because he couldn't bear to say anything else. "So, did you bring recommendations?" He asked, swiftly changing the subject. 

"Here." Nikki nodded at the waitress, who was bringing a cup of milk. Nikki grabbed a bunch of folded papers from his jacket and handed then to Mick. "I have been in three bands. I was the bassist for all three, and helped write songs for the last two." Nikki pulled his kid onto his lap. "I only have recommendations for two, though." He added. 

"That's okay." Mick unfolded the papers and briefly looked over them. There were phone numbers scribbled hastily on the bottom of the pages. Mick tucked them away into his jacket for later. "I gotta ask, did you bring any recordings?" He asked, and Nikki winced. 

"No. But my friend has some. I can see if he can send them to you." Nikki replied.

Mick nodded. He looked at the kid, and he looked at Nikki, who had the look they were going for, but who couldn't commit fully with a baby and, as it seemed, absent friends. "Listen, man. I don't know what you're situation is, but can't, I dunno, your kid's mom take him for awhile?" Mick asked. 

Immediately, Nikki's looked up, and something had changed in his eyes. He looked, temporarily, like the question had struck a bad chord with him. "No." Nikki replied, without so much as missing a beat. 

"Okay." Mick knew better than to push. 

"You know what? Here's the deal." Nikki suddenly said. He shifted foward. "I know that you don't wanna hire somebody with a toddler, I know that you probably want to kick me to the curb already, but I need this, okay?" Nikki paused, and then sat back up. "I need to be in a band, man." He said softly. 

Mick looked into Nikki's passive eyes. "Why?" He asked. 

"Because...I haven't been in a band since forever." Nikki sounded like he'd been about to say something else, but had abruptly changed at the last minute. But he sounded genuine, and desperation crept into his voice. Mick looked at Nikki's pale face, but saw that his eyes were shuttered, as if to keep Mick from seeing everything inside. 


	5. Chapter 5

Nikki wouldn't blame Mick if the meeting would end in rejection. To tell the honest truth, Nikki didn't think he would've hired himself, either, even though it hurt to admit that as he sat there, with Gunner playing with one of his necklaces. Nikki hadn't had very high hopes in the first place, but, with Mick staring at him, whatever hope that he'd been given was quickly disappearing. 

The silence seemed to stretch on like an elastic band, and Nikki felt a painful tugging around his neck. "Ouch." He said, and Gunner pulled away with a fretful look on his face. Nikki smiled at him to show that it was okay, and then looked back up at Mick with a frown. 

At this point, Nikki would rather face blunt rejection than the harsh silence that he was being put through. He had too many things to do to deal with the drawn out tension that he was being put through, and Gunner was beginning to get antsy, shifting around on Nikki's lap. 

Outside, people walked by, not caring for the three men and the little boy, sitting in the booth at some tiny diner in LA. They didn't know who they were, what they were doing, and would forget about them in a few minutes. Nikki started to bounce his leg from anxiety, and Gunner giggled. 

"I'm going to regret this, aren't I?" Mick muttered, rubbing the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes for a flicker of a moment. His dark hair fell into his face, and he pushed it back behind his ears brusquely. Mick took a deep breath and opened his eyes again. "I'm going to need to call your friend, and ask him for some recordings. I don't want to go in blind, after all." Mick said. 

"Yeah." Nikki didn't let himself feel hopeful yet. He was careful to keep his face blank, stoic, unfeeling. 

Mick looked at Gunner like a cat would a dog - wearily, and slowly. "I'll call you in three days at most." Mick said. "I have to talk to the other guys, and...consider about it whether or not you're worth it." He winced, as if realizing how mean his words sounded. 

But Nikki understood what Mick was saying, and why. He knew that he was a big risk, but maybe, just maybe, it would be a risk worth taking. Mick dug into his pocket and pulled out a piece of folded paper, which he slid across the table. "You have my number." Mick said. "I'll call you soon, okay?" He looked at Nikki like he expected to be told that everything was off, that it wasn't worth it. 

"Okay." Nikki took that as an incentive to leave, and so he did. He hitched Gunner further up and slid out from the booth, stuffing the paper into his pocket. "Thanks for you time, man." Nikki said. "I appreciate it." And he really did. 

"You're welcome." Mick paused. "I hope this works out, I really do. Good luck, Nikki." 

Nikki nodded, risked the smallest smile, and turned around, with nothing else to say, but a million thoughts running around his head at top speed. With Gunner on his hip, Nikki left the diner, listening as the bell chimed in goodbye before they were back outside, in the cold, harsh world where too many things went wrong for him to expect this one, single thing to go right. 

Ever since Brandi had left with a bag in hand and a sad look in her dark brown eyes, Nikki had been in a downward spiral. His one light had been Gunner, no matter how many times Gunner woke him up in the middle of the night, screaming and crying because he was hungry or had a nightmare or for some other reason. 

The apartment was within walking distance, and Nikki started striding toward it with a sigh, wondering what was going to happen, how this whole situation was going to end. Nikki didn't know if he _wanted_ to know. Even the best case scenario would end in sorrow, and Nikki didn't want to think about that. 

But they needed money. Blackie and Lizzie wouldn't support them forever, Nikki knew, and he didn't have a lot of money saved up. He either needed to pray for this goddamn band like never before, or find a job as a waiter or something. 

Nikki knew that he needed to swallow his pride, but he just couldn't. 

"Mama!" Gunner suddenly burst out. He struggled in Nikki's arms and pointed with one pudgy finger excitedly. "Mama!" Gunner kicked at Nikki, trying to get down, but Nikki just held on tighter. 

"What?" Nikki said, looking around, not sure what he expected to see. "Oh." There was an unexpected pang to his heart when he saw Brandi, but not in the way he would've liked. There was a magazine rack standing just outside of a small shop, and a stack of magazines showed off Brandi in a bikini, smiling flirtatiously at the camera, testing it, testing whoever stared at her. 

"No." Nikki said. "That's not Mama." He lied through his teeth, not wanting for his son to feel that pain, even if Gunner couldn't understand it. Gunner might not be able to understand the situation, understand that his mother had up and left without a care, but Nikki was still cautious, and maybe it wasn't the best thing for him to do, it felt right. 

"Not Mama?" Gunner frowned and looked between Nikki and Brandi, his little face puckering. "No Mama?" He asked, close to tears, wiping his eyes with his fists. 

"No." Nikki began walking again, quicker, faster. He didn't want to deal with that conversation, either, not that Gunner would be able to keep up with it, anyways. 

There was a sudden rumble, and a familiar black Pinto slid into view. Well, perhaps 'slid' wasn't the most accurate word, because that Pinto had been to Hell and back, and it jerked back and forth as it came to a slow, jerky crawl. The passenger's side window came down, and Blackie's face appeared. 

Nikki wasn't impressed. "Ah. I was hoping that I wouldn't have to see your ugly mug today." He said. 

Blackie grinned. "You stole my heart, Sixx. Now get in before you and that kid get mugged." He unlocked the door and gestured for Nikki to stop walking, but Nikki just kept going, petty in his determination. 

"Hey. Nik. Just get in, okay? I'm sorry that I bailed on you." Blackie said. 

Shaking his head, Nikki's walk didn't so much as stutter. "What happened between you and Kerry?" He asked. 

For a minute, Blackie hesitated. "None of your business, Sixxy. C'mon. Just get your asses in here before I speed off." It was a moot lie, but Nikki stopped walking, anyways, and Blackie pulled the car to the curb and stopped fully. 

Technically, Blackie's car was shared between them, but Blackie owned it. Despite this, Gunner's car seat was in there, and Nikki put him in, glaring at Blackie all the while. "What'd I do to piss you off?" Blackie asked as he caught Nikki's eye through the rearview mirror. 

Nikki got into the passenger's seat. "Well, Blackie, you refused to babysit Gunner because you were off with your bitchy girlfriend, but here you are, tracking me through LA." He said as he slammed the door shut. 

"Oh, here we go again. If I wanted to be bitched at, man, I would've just stayed with Kerry." Blackie said, rolling his eyes as he began to drive again. "Besides, just be grateful. You look like a lady with her kid. Anybody could've gotten at you." 

"What? God, fuck you, Blackie. I do not." Nikki shook his head. 

"You do!" Blackie insisted. 

"Fuck!" Gunner said brightly from the back. 

"Oh, my God." Nikki moaned, burying his face in his hands. 

Blackie snorted. "We didn't even have to wait 'till he was two. Say it again, Gun." 

"No!" Nikki said quickly. 

"Fuck!" Gunner giggled and clapped his hands. 

"God, I hate you, Lawless." Nikki snarled. 

"Oh, c'mon, he'll forget it by dinnertime." Blackie said, waving his hand dismissively, not caring at all. 

"Fuckfuckfuckfuck." Gunner said. 

Blackie paused, frowning. "Okay, maybe desert." He conceded. 

"Gun, that's a bad word. Don't say that, please." Nikki said. 

"So, how'd the meeting go?" Blackie asked, eager to change the subject before he ended up on the receiving end of Nikki's notorious wrath. He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel and took a right turn. 

Nikki shrugged. "Some guy named Mick is gonna be calling you for recordings." 

"Oh. Shit, sorry, I meant to give them to you." Blackie said. 

"It's okay." Nikki replied. "Um, obviously, when he saw Gun, he got a little...off." 

"Asshole." Blackie muttered. "How many musicians have kids nowadays?" 

"Correction - how many musicians have _babies?"_ Nikki glanced at Gunner, who was just beginning to doze off, his eyelids fluttering. 

"Uh, plenty." Blackie didn't sound very sure, though. "The thing is, though, Nik, that you're an excellent bassist, an even better songwriter, and, hell, you're not shooting dope and doing what those other shitheads do, so that asshole needs to count those things as a win." He jabbed his finger in the air, as if to punctuate his point, as ridiculous as it was. 

"I _used_ to, though." Nikki replied, pulling down his sleeves as far as they'd go. 

"That doesn't matter. You're clean." Blackie pulled into a free parking space and pulled the keys out. "And that's pretty fucking awesome - oh, great. Is that Liz's car?" He knew perfectly well that it was, but maybe, just maybe, wanted for Nikki to reassure him that it wasn't Lizzie because as much as Blackie loved him, Lizzie was a force of nature to be reckoned with, sweet and terrifying as he was. 

But it was, and Nikki smiled as he got out of the car. "Bad luck, Lawless." He said.

Standing across the parking lot, Lizzie grinned and spread his arms wide. "Nice to see you two assholes!" He said. 

"You're a sight for sore eyes, I thought you were in Nevada." Blackie said as he got out of the car. 

Lizzie smiled awkwardly. "Well, I _was._ But then I discovered that my, uh, girlfriend was fucking somebody else. So I'm here and I've got a question for you." 

"Oh, dear God." Nikki muttered from where he was half-in the car, getting Gunner out of his car seat. "Don't tell me..." He trailed off. 

"Fuck." Blackie said simply. 

"So." Lizzie spread his arms wide. "Who wants to be my roommates?" 


	6. Chapter 6

Mick wasn't sure what he thought of Nikki. He wasn't sure what he thought of his personality, somehow so bitter and closed-off while being nice at the same time, and he definitely wasn't sure what he thought of the fact that Nikki had a _child._ A small part of Mick wanted to rip up the piece of paper with Nikki's number and just toss it in the garbage, but he couldn't, and he didn't, and so he returned home, feeling even more confused than he had previously. 

Just as Mick knew, he wasn't alone when he unlocked the door and stepped inside. He was nearly knocked over by an excited drummer, who was staring at him, all wide-eyed and ready to hear whatever news that Mick had waiting in store. Mick paused, nearly flinched at the sight, but he was far too used to it to be genuinely scared, and he shut the door slowly and firmly, as if taking leisure in the slow torture that he was putting the younger man through. 

"Oh, c'mon, tell me!" Tommy said, jumping up and down on the balls of his feet. "I can't handle it anymore, man. _Puh-leease,_ Mick!" Tommy clasped his hands together, as if begging for even the smallest shred of information. 

"What've you been doing, standing at the door, waiting for me to return like a puppy?" Mick said, hanging up his jacket on the wall hooks. 

"Yes!" Vince yelled from the living room. 

Mick shook his head and walked into the kitchen, intent on getting something to eat before he regaled his two band mates with the day's events, but Tommy's footsteps followed him, and Mick sighed as he opened and inspected the contents of the fridge. " _Tommy."_ Mick said. 

"C'mon. I've been dying!" Tommy persisted, resting his arms on the fridge door and hanging over Mick's head like a monkey. "Please, Mick!" He said, as if the hundred times hadn't been enough. 

With his almost leisurely stroll, Vince came into the room, thumbs hooked in the loops of his jeans. "It's not too late, Mick." He said. "We can always get a new drummer, they're not hard to find." Vince ripped a banana off of the rest, and then grimaced. "Yuck. It's gone mushy." He tossed it back on the counter. 

"Spoilt brat." Mick muttered, shutting the fridge with empty hands. "He was twenty minutes late. His name is Nikki. And he has a kid." Mick said, and Vince's mouth dropped open, shocked. 

"What? No." Tommy scoffed. 

"Yes." Mick said. "Nikki fits our bill when it comes to appearances, but he's got a toddler. No, a _baby."_ He remembered how Nikki's kid looked at him, all big brown eyes that shined with trust and love and curiosity, in a way that only a child who had never been hurt or betrayed or shown the bad side of the world could. 

"For fuck's sake." Vince groaned, running a hand through his hair. "Of course, the one bassist who fits the bill." He shook his head and stared at the wall, irritated. 

"Um, what about the mom? Can't she-" Tommy motioned vaguely in the air, as if unable to find the words that he wanted to. 

"I don't think the mom is in their lives." Mick replied. 

"So, back to the drawing board?" Vince asked, his eyebrows raising. 

"Hold on." Mick said. "Just hold on, 'kay? Listen, Nikki has a kid, a baby, but I have kids, too, and that hasn't stopped me." But that wasn't quite the same, because, in all truth, Mick hadn't seen his kids in weeks. He didn't have full custody of them like Nikki did his. 

"But your kids aren't babies!" Vince waved his hands wildly in the air. 

"What _kind_ of baby?" Tommy asked. 

Mick shrugged. "Like, a year old, or something." He answered. 

"That isn't too bad, right?" Tommy looked around for approval, but Mick shook his head, and Tommy's face fell. 

"The kid is probably still taking naps, barely able to talk, probably can't even walk right yet." Mick replied, sympathetic for having to ruin Tommy's hopes, but knowing that it needed to be done. 

"Then why did you just tell us to hold on about, man?" Vince asked, obviously frustrated, gesturing wildly in the air. 

"Because we can't judge him just because he has a kid." Mick set the papers down on the kitchen counter. 

"What are those?" Vince asked. 

"Phone numbers for the bands he's been with previously." Mick answered, grabbing the phone off the cradle and looking at the first number, deciding that he needed to get started sooner rather than later. 

Before anything else could be said, Mick dialed the number and pressed the phone against his ear, tapping one of his fingers against the countertop as the dial tone droned on and on, on and on, just like it had earlier. Mick frowned, and continued to wait. 

Finally, there was a dull _click._ "Hello?" A man said. 

"Is this..." Mick looked down at the paper again. "Blackie Lawless?" Unable to help himself, Mick smirked and shook his head, closing his eyes for a miniscule of a second. He was always amused by the names that musicians made up for themselves nowadays. 

"Yeah. Who's asking?" Blackie asked. 

"This is Mick Mars." Mick said, fighting to keep the sharp anger out of his tone. He didn't need to get all upset. "I was given your number by a man named Nikki." For a minute, he wondered if it was a mistake not to get Nikki's last name. 

"Oh. _Ooohh._ Right, um." Blackie exhaled heavily. Suddenly, there was the sound of a baby crying, and Mick's eyebrows furrowed. "Shit." Blackie said, and there was the sound of footsteps, and a door opened and closed. 

"Is this a bad time?" Mick asked. 

"No, no." Blackie replied. "For fu - Liz, you better not be - sorry, hold on." 

Another door shut. 

"Sorry. Okay, Mick, Nikki, what do you need?" Blackie asked. 

"Well, I need recordings of Nikki's playing." Mick said. "And he said that you were the person to get them from." He hoped so, anyways. Mick pretended that Vince and Tommy weren't staring at him like he was a visitor from Mars or some weird shit like that. 

"Well, yeah." Blackie said. "Uh, you want me to mail them to you? You'll have to give me a day or two to get them. But I can get them to you, definitely." 

"Right." Mick wondered what he'd gotten himself into. "What do you know about him, Blackie? Nikki, I mean." He said quickly for clarification. 

At this, Vince began to look suspicious. He frowned, and looked at Mick in that faintly judgemental way of his. Tommy wasn't even paying attention. At this point in their lives, Mick wasn't even surprised. 

"Um, well, he was the bassist in my band. He's a good guy, a little rough around the edges." Blackie said. "But he's determined. If you end up taking him into the band, then I swear you won't regret it, man. Now, where do you want the taps sent to?" He asked. 

Mick wanted to ask more, but he bit hid tongue and instead told Blackie the address. Through the line, Mick heard the scratching of pen against paper, and heard Blackie exhale. "Right. Anything else?" He said. 

"No, thank you for your time." Mick said politely, and he heard Blackie hang up on his end. Mick set the phone down, and then turned to look at Vince and Tommy, who were staring at him expectantly. 

"What?" Mick said.

Vince, smiling, turned away. "This better work out, Mars." He said. 


	7. Chapter 7

Nikki didn't know what he expected to find when he opened the door, but a screaming baby, an annoyed Blackie, and a terrified Lizzie was pretty close to what he'd been thinking about as he stepped inside, a gallon of milk hanging loosely from his fingers. 

Toys were scattered on the floor, and Nikki almost tripped over a stack of building blocks as he walked into the kitchen and deposited the milk into the fridge. He could see Blackie banging his head against the wall, and Lizzie was awkwardly trying to show Gunner a teddy bear. Gunner shook his head and didn't reach out to take it, making Lizzie groan out in frustration. 

"Do I even want to know?" Nikki asked, weaving his way through toys and blankets, grabbing the back of the chair to keep his balance. He already had a headache from Gunner's cries, and he hadn't been in the apartment for two minutes. Nikki was surprised that the building hadn't burned down, though, so he counted that as a win. 

Startled, Blackie looked up. "Nikki!" He said. "I didn't expect you to be home already." He smiled weakly, and then looked around at the mess. "I didn't create most of this, by the way." Blackie looked at Nikki with slightly widened eyes, as if to signify his own surprise at this. 

"Ten minutes. I was gone for ten minutes." Nikki picked Gunner up. "What'd you two idiots do to him?" He asked. 

"Well, I had to go and answer a call." Blackie said carefully. "So the person you should be asking that is Lizzie." He glared pointedly at the other man. 

Lizzie glared, but then his gaze softened as he slowly turned around and looked at Nikki, who looked close to murder, and felt like it, too. Gunner was slowly calming down. Nikki was happy to see that Gunner hadn't actually been crying, just screaming his little lungs out. "Well..." Lizzie clapped his hands together and rubbed them. "You see...I was feeding Gunner those little crackers, y'know?" 

"Yes." Nikki said patiently, feeling Gunner resume his favorite pass time of playing with Nikki's necklaces. Gunner seemed borderline infatuated with them. 

"And...they looked good." Lizzie said. "So I ate some." 

"And that caused Gunner to cry?" Nikki raised his eyebrows, and looked at his two friends with that distinct look in his eyes, the one that suggested he was at the end of his rope. Gunner giggled, and pulled particularly hard on Nikki's cross. 

"Yeah..." Lizzie looked down, and then he suddenly perked up. "Look on the bright aide of things, though." He said. 

"What's that?" Nikki asked. 

"The kid can become a singer with that set of lungs." Lizzie remarked, sounding faintly impressed. 

Nikki scoffed out a laugh. "Is that right, Gun?" He said, smiling at Gunner, who gave a wide grin back. 

"Anyways, I got a call from that guy, Mick." Blackie said. "He wanted the recordings." He bent down and began to pick up some of the toys that had been strewn by Lizzie and Gunner during their time together. 

"Oh, good. What'd he say?" Nikki asked, although he wasn't entirely sure that he wanted to know the details of the conversation. 

"He went on about the recordings, and then he asked what I knew about you, for some reason." Blackie answered. "So I said you were a good guy, blah blah blah." 

"Oh, I could've done better than that." Lizzie said, hands on his hips. "I would've milked you for all you were worth, Nikki." He clasped his hands together and widened his eyes. "Oh, Mick, Nikki is a struggling single father whose bitch of a wife left him and is now having to look around for bands that will take him." He said in a high-pitched falsetto. 

Blackie waved his hand in the air. "Oh, please." He dismissed. 

"Maybe it's best you didn't answer the phone, then." Nikki sat down with Gunner on his lap. "This is good. This means he's gonna give me, _us,_ a chance." He said, and the pleased look on his face was enough to make Blackie and Lizzie exchange glances, both curious and glad for their friend. 

It was increasingly rare to see Nikki happy. He smiled at Gunner, but his eyes never lit up in that distinct way of his, one that spoke of happiness beyond measure. It was all fake, a show that Nikki put on for Gunner, who was remarkably sensitive to other peoples' emotions. 

But now, with the prospect of being part of a band again, Nikki was smiling, and this time, it was genuine, sweet. To Blackie and Lizzie, who had watched their friend in the grips of addiction and in the depths of depression, it was the best thing that they ever could've asked for. 

"Yes. And if he has one ounce of sense in him, he'll take the chance." Blackie said firmly, and he hoped so, too. He didn't care about the money, although he didn't have a doubt that Nikki would be happy to finally be earning some, but Nikki needed to do something besides give his entire being and more to Gunner. 

"And he will." Lizzie said. 

Gunner clapped his hands together. "Dada happy?" He asked, pressing his hands on either side of Nikki's face, looking up at his father with his big, trusting eyes. 

"Yes." Nikki said. "Dada is happy." And he didn't mention the anxiety that was brimming just below the surface. Nikki didn't know for certain if they would like his playing, nobody did, but Nikki smiled, and this time, it wasn't fake. 


	8. Chapter 8

Mick hadn't expected to see the tapes so soon after the phone call, but on a cold, overcast morning, with a steaming cup of coffee in hand because the idea of leaving the apartment without some sort of shield against the world was borderline amusing, Mick opened his mailbox and found a baggie of tapes sitting on top of a letter. The letter was imposing, the tapes were a death wish, and Mick frowned at them for a long minute before he grabbed them. 

It was early in the morning. Mick shuffled back to his apartment, rubbed the sleep from his eyes, and then looked down at the baggie of VHS tapes. He set them down on the table, and then looked at the letter. It was addressed to him, obviously, written in that childish scrawl that Mick was adjusted to enough to read without much difficulty. He fought back a smile, setting the coffee down so he could rip open the envelope like an excited kid. 

' _Hi Dad,_

_How are you? Mommy says that you're still chasing the clouds. I asked what that meant and she said that it meant that you're too caught up in trying to be someone you can't. She says things like that a lot. But I miss you. I don't care if you're chasing clouds, I want to see you again. It's been forever since you last visited._

_Erik wants to see you too. Stormy wants to, too, but she doesn't ever say so because she doesn't like it when she has to talk about feelings. Mommy says that she's too much like you which is kinda stupid. Why wouldn't she want Stormy to be like you? I don't understand._

_Anyways, I wanna see you again. I wanna play with you again. When can we visit? I don't even care if Erik and Stormy come with me, I wanna see you!! Mommy says that I have to go now. Please write back. I love you, Dad._

_Bye, Les._

_PS, I lost your phone number, that's why I haven't called you back. Can you write it down again for me?_

_Bye for real now, Les.'_

Mick wasn't aware that he'd been crying until his eyes burned, and a single tear fell onto the paper, smudging the messy writing. He sniffed, rubbing at his eyes with the back of his hand, feeling his heart jump into his throat and making it hard to breath. He couldn't do this. 

Setting the letter down on the table, Mick forced himself to take a few deep breaths, but while it helped ease the hurt in his lungs, it didn't ease the deep hurt in his heart as he remembered the last time he'd seen his hildren. It'd been weeks since he'd last seen them. Erik was in high school, and Stormy was still pissed off about the divorce, no matter how much time passed. Les didn't seem to understand that time couldn't be reversed, that the divorce would've happened no matter what. 

The letter seemed like a testament to the cold reality of the lives that they were living. Sharon would never let the kids see Mick as anything but some deadbeat asshole, and Mick would never forgive her for that, but he was willing to move past it, if only he saw his kids again, if only he could have that time with them. 

But Mick knew better. He opened the baggie of tapes and held it open, allowing them to fall to the table. He forced himself to stop thinking about things that he couldn't change, about the kids that he wanted to see and the ex-wife that he wanted to hate, and instead tried to focus on his career. 

In truth, Mick didn't know what he expected. Nikki had been more than Mick had expected in terms of his personality, but his talent was the real thing that was coming into question. Mick needed somebody who could play bass better than he could talk, who could put words onto paper and have that flare that always drew people in, like bees to honey. 

Mick folded the letter and put it in his pocket, feeling the paper brush against his skin like a burning weight, and then he walked over to the telephone. He knew the numbers by heart, and it reminded him of how Les needed his phone number, and that was why Mick hadn't gotten a call back. Mick wondered if Sharon had thrown the piece of paper with the number on it out. 

"Yeah?" Vince sounded like he'd been dead to the world. His voice was groggy, awkward, a total difference from his usual confidence. 

"I've got the tapes. Get yourself dressed and come over." Mick said, and he heard a noise of surprise from the other side of the line. 

"Already?" Vince said. 

"No, it's a prank." Mick deadpanned before he put the phone back in its hook, and then he grabbed it again. He dialed the number and waited as the phone droned on, and on, and on, until he heard the distinct, dull _click,_ and Mick knew who would answer, but it never stopped being so awkward. 

"Hello?" Mrs. Bass said, always polite, even though she probably knew who it was, which Mick could respect. He knew that she and her husband were probably weirded out that their son was hanging out with some guy who looked like a wannabe Barbie, tan and all, and, well, Mick, who knew full and well that he wasn't the most reassuring person in the world. 

Mick took a deep breath. "It's Mick Mars." He said, maybe a little unnecessarily. "I was wondering if Tommy Lee was awake yet." But Tommy wouldn't be awake, because he never got up before noon on a good day, claiming that he needed to be fully rested to be at his full drumming capabilities. 

"Well, no, would you like me to get him?" Mrs. Bass asked. 

"Actually, I wanted to know if you could tell him to come over, tell him that I have tapes for the new bassist." Mick replied. 

"Oh, of course." Mrs. Bass said. 

"Thank you." Mick waited for Mrs. Bass to hang up before he set the phone back onto the hook and walked back to the table. He grabbed the tapes and his coffee before retreating to the living room, setting the coffee mug down on the table before crouching down in front of the television. 

The tapes had been marked with a sharpie in a heavy, clumsy hand. Mick glanced at the titles - **SISTER** **OHIO SHOW \1, 1982 -** was the first one, and Mick put it into the player, sitting back so he could see the television screen properly. He suddenly wished he had a cigarette, and he grabbed his coffee cup to occupy his hands. 

Mick knew that he should wait for Vince and Tommy, but they wouldn't come for another thirty minutes or so, and Mick couldn't sit and wait while work needed to be done, even though it wasn't really 'work' in the sense that Mick didn't need to do anything but sit and watch. He hadn't been on the receiving end of the show in a long time, and it felt strange. 

It hadn't even been professionally recorded, Mick could tell immediately. The camera was shaky and the footage was grainy, but, after a minute, it settled. There was an impressive amount of people in the crowd, mostly young kids, punks, the sort that Mick wasn't surprised hasd been drawn to the event. 

From what little Mick could see, the members of the band were varied. Some tall, imposing guy with another hair to mostly cover his face had a guitar around his neck and was adjusting the height of the microphone on the center stage. A smaller, curly-haired kid was to the right, and there was a blonde on the other end, alongside a black-haired kid that Mick knew to be Nikki. 

They started off with 'After Forever', quite the romantic name for such a dark song. Mick thought that Nikki did fit into the Rock N' Roll scene quite well, and his fingers were quick on the bass, but he was still young, impressionable, and his youth could be heard like a blaring horn. Then, they did 'Voices', which Mick was surprised at. None of the makeup-streaked, devil incarnate band members seemed like they liked the sort of songs that Cheap Tricks typically did, but Mick liked flexibility. 

For the finale, they did 'Adam's Apple', and Mick smiled at that one. Black Sabbath, Cheap Tricks and Aerosmith. Who the hell would've guessed? Mick surely wouldn't have. The tape cut off, and Mick grabbed it, setting it down on the table, mildly impressed by the show that'd been put on. 

But what was Nikki without the vocals? What was Nikki without the guitar, the drums? Was he, after everything, just a mime, trying to make it in a noisy world? 

The next tape was - **PRIVATE SESSION, N. Sixx, 1983 -** and Mick popped it in. 

It was immediately clear that, while Sister may have provided a stepping stone, it hadn't given success. The room that Nikki was in was littered with trash, and it was clear that he was coked out, his eyes dazed, his hair a tangled mess. A part of Mick wondered if Blackie had meant to toss the tape in, because it wasn't a good look in any honesty. 

Nikki sniffed. He looked up to see if the camera was recording. He looked too young, and not even the eyeglasses he was wearing could help make him look a little more mature. Mick thought that Nikki had pretty eyes. 

Without a word, Nikki began to pluck innocuously at the guitar. And then he began to play in a little more earnest. He had talent, Mick could tell, the sort that people were born with and always carried, but he didn't have technique in the most technical of ways. Nikki had obviously never had a teacher, probably just managed to find a bass guitar and started playing it. 

Why, of course, Mick didn't know, but as he watched Nikki, with his round glasses and tangled hair, play, slowly moving his body to his familiar tune, there was something about him. Mick didn't know why, because he wasn't usually privy to feeling endeared to people, but there was something about the jaded look in his eyes that Mick felt drawn to. 

There was a quick knock on the door, and Mick stood up with a wince. He tried not to think about the implications of that, and instead walked to the door, taking care to look through the peephole before he unlocked the door and opened it. A faceful of Vince greeted him as the blonde walked by without greeting, and was closely followed by Tommy, who was soaking wet. 

"Did you know that it's raining?" Tommy asked conversationally. 

"No." Mick paused. "Take off your shoes, drummer. I don't care to lose my deposit over you two asshole's storming in like you own the place. _I_ don't even own the place." He shut the door and watched as Vince sat down heavily on the couch. 

"It smells in here." Vince said. "Did you change you cologne? Because it usually doesn't smell like this." He looked around judgmentally. 

Mick rolled his eyes. "No." He replied. "What does that even - okay, just listen, so the tapes came in." Mick walked in and sat down on the couch to allieve some of the pain in his hip. The video had ended, and Tommy was examining the title. 

"N. Sixx? Is that the guy?" Tommy asked. 

"No, Tommy. That's just some random guy I have tapes of." Mick said. "Put the first tape in." He gestured toward the tape on the table. 

"I better not see anything risky." Tommy said as he put the tape in. 


	9. Chapter 9

With bated breath, Nikki slowly set Gunner down onto the mattress, reaching over the bars to set his son down. Gunner roused, and his eyelashes fluttered, and then he took a deep breath and his head lolled to the side as he fell back into a deep sleep. If not for the fact that he'd been steadily screaming for the past five minutes, and, before that, glaring like a cranky old man, Gunner would've looked like a sweet angel. 

Nikki pulled away slowly, backing away from the crib like a bomb would explode if he went too fast. Nikki stumbled as his foot hit a stuffed bear, and he stiffened, pausing as Gunner made a mumbling noise and shifted around. Gunner fell back asleep, and Nikki finished backing out, his heart pounding against his ribcage. 

Slowly, holding his breath as the door creaked noisily, Nikki closed the door halfway and then walked back out through the hallway and into the living room. It had been a long day, and it was barely afternoon. The sun was seeping in from the curtains, and it would've been a beautiful day, except Nikki already had a headache, and Blackie was drinking heavily. 

"Is he asleep?" Blackie whispered, setting aside the whiskey to stare at Nikki with wide, hopeful eyes, daring to believe. Blackie slowly stepped foward with a hesitant smile, and Nikki nodded. Blackie grinned and tossed his hands in the air, as if rejoicing. "Oh, thank God." Blackie sighed, pressing his hand against his chest. "I love that kid, but...I gotta say, he got Brandi's dramatics." He shook his head, resigned. 

"Tell me about it." Nikki sighed, sitting down at the table. He rubbed his temples, trying to relieve his headache that was beginning to throb. Nikki had been awake since last last night, because Gunner had gotten a sugar high with no sugar to actually give him any high. 

Lizzie appeared. "He's asleep?" He asked hopefully. 

"After an hour and two fits." Nikki replied. 

"From me." Blackie sat down at the table, folding his hands and resting his head on his hands, looking idly at the wall. 

With a groan of relief, Lizzie sat down on the other side of the table. "The silence is....startling." He said slowly, as if he had needed to find his words to describe the situation and his feelings. 

They sat in silence for a few minutes. "So, what do we do now?" Lizzie asked. 

"Um." Blackie shrugged. "Anybody up for some poker?" He asked, splaying his hands and looking around the table. 

Nikki shook his head. "The last time I played poker with you, I ended up losing my bass, so no go." He replied. 

"Well, don't put a bet on your guitar." Blackie said. 

Suddenly, the apartment was filled with the sound of the phone ringing. It was loud, like the sound of a screeching, demonic creature, and Nikki jumped to his feet, sprinting for the phone, jumping over building blocks and vaulting over the couch before he grabbed the phone, silencing the screeching. 

Lizzie held his breath, and Blackie sat there in terrified silence. They looked at each other, waiting for the second show to drop, or perhaps for the other foot to go into the grave. Nikki stood there, the phone in hand, praying that Gunner had developed the ability to sleep through a ringing phone. 

And, like it always did, the shoe dropped, and Gunner began to cry. 

" _Fuu-uuck."_ Lizzie groaned, burying his face in his hands. He let his head drop onto the table with a thumping noise, looking defeated, and nobody could blame him. Lizzie wondered if, maybe, it would've been better just to stay with his cheating girlfriend. At least it'd be quiet. 

Blackie stood up and walked over to Nikki, holding his hand out. Nikki handed him the phone. "Tell whoever it is that I'm gonna skin them." Nikki hisses before he stormed off toward the sound of crying. It was an all too familiar noise, but yet, it would never be something that Nikki would get used to as he walked into the room and found Gunner sitting there, his face red from exertion. 

As Blackie's low voice rumbled in the living room, Nikki picked Gunner up, wrapping his arms around the toddler securely. "Hey, hey, shhh." Nikki whispered, rocking him slightly. "It's me, Gun. Hey, buddy. Sh, shhh." Nikki kissed Gunner's forehead and rubbed his back, trying to comfort him, but Gunner didn't seem to be in the mood to be comforted. He made another weak crying noise, and then he rubbed his eyes with closed fists.

Gunner looked up with sleepy eyes. "Why I'm 'wake, Dada?" He asked, almost accusingly. Nikki fought back a smile at the tone. 

"Because of some a- jerk on the phone." Nikki replied. 

"The asshole wants to talk to you!" Blackie yelled. "It's the Mick guy! With the band!" He added, and Nikki groaned. 

With Gunner still in his arms, Nikki walked back into the living room. "Tell him to fuck off. I gotta put the baby back to bed, and I don't care to speak to the guy who just woke him up." He said. 

"You tell 'im, Nik." Lizzie mumbled. 

"He says it's important." Blackie replied. "C'mon, man, this is your livelihood." He insisted, and Nikki groaned. 

"Don't flatter me." Nikki took the phone and, while Gunner put his head on Nikki's shoulder, Nikki put the phone to his ear. "What is it?" He demanded. 

"You're in the band." Mick said. 


End file.
